Western States Ride - Part 3

Day 9 � 61 miles
We didn't go anywhere today. Doug's ride to Utah took more out of
him than he previously thought so we decided to relax in Moab and
let him rest up for a bit. We packed up the bikes and headed to a
motel in town so that we could be closer to the amenities that Moab
had to offer. Moab is a very nice place with plenty of stores to
browse and restaurants to chose from. I bought some heat-appropriate
clothing and Doug got a haircut; it was a very relaxing day. But not
too relaxing. We were mere miles from Arches National Park and I
didn't want to miss my chance of seeing it. Doug chose to stay at
the motel while I hopped on the GS about an hour before sunset and
took off up the road. The park was fairly empty of people, with most
of the ones there already pulled off into vista lots or the
campground. I rode down every side road, taking it all in from the
back of the bike. I almost took the short hike to the Natural Arch,
but when I considered the lingering heat and the setting sun, I
decided that enough pictures had been taken of it that I didn't need
to add mine to the collection. I toyed with the idea of exploring
the "4 x 4 Only" road that veered off of the main road, but the
impending rain to the west told me that the ruts I saw in the dried
mud would become snares for my tires in the blink of an eye. It
turned out to be a wise choice, as about 20 minutes later the skies
opened up and the rains fell. A spider web of lightning streaked
across the sky and the rain came down in sheets, with a strong wind
blowing it (and me) across the road in a haphazard fashion.
Fortunately I was already on my way out of the park by the time the
rain started so it was a brief ride back to the motel where I got
off the bike, the 'Stitch dripping wet but me feeling comfy and dry
inside.

Day
10 � 336 miles
We were finally ready to hit the road. The morning was cool and we
pointed the bikes south from Moab down Route 191. The landscape was
wide open, with more and more frequent mesas and "monument" type
formations. There were occasional arches and the colors of the rocks
varied from tan to red to pink. We stopped by the rock formation
that gives Mexican Hat its name and decided to take the dirt road
that leads to the base of the rocks and down to the river. I was
completely fascinated by the ancient folded rocks that make up the
banks of the San Juan River and the stark contrast of the green
growth and the harsh red rocks. We took some pictures of ourselves
and the bikes and the "Mexican Hat" itself before continuing to the
town proper. As we were heading back to the paved road from the dirt
roads we were playing on, we saw that a tour bus had stopped to give
its passengers a chance to get out and take pictures of the Mexican
Hat rocks. A few of the photographers were apparently quite taken in
by the sight we presented: two renegade off-road riders that
appeared out of nowhere. We kicked up dust as they focused their
cameras on us and quite a few lenses panned along as we rode past
them and headed off into the distance. By the time we reached
Mexican Hat it was lunchtime. Doug knew of a great little place to
eat near the bridge over the San Juan that served some native
dishes. Mmmmm, fry bread. It had been years since I'd had any!

After lunch we made a stop at Goosenecks. Doug had asked if I wanted
to continue south to Monument Valley, but after looking at the haze
in the sky I decided that I would be disappointed with any pictures
that I took and that I was seeing plenty of amazing things as it
was. Like Goosenecks! Those oxbow rivers that I loved so much in
Colorado just got bigger and deeper. I could see tiny little
splashes of color on the river. Doug informed me that they were
river rafters � amazing. The sheer size and depth of this section of
the river is hard to fathom, and nearly impossible to photograph.

From
Goosenecks we headed towards Moki Dugway (sometimes spelled Mokee
Dugway � even the state couldn't be consistent in their signage) The
Moki Dugway is a three-mile section of dirt and gravel road that
somehow traverses up the side of a mesa. I couldn't see the road at
all as I approached the mesa and it was impossible to try and figure
out how I was going to climb up the side of this cliff in just three
miles on a road that is not apparent. I couldn't even see the road
when I was at the base of the mesa. But oh what a road it is! It
twists and turns in a torturous route up the side of this mesa,
climbing 1,100' to the overlook at the top. The turns are tight and
posted at 5 mph, which, when you're running on gravel roads, you take
at 5 mph. We met a couple of guys on a Dakar and a Trans Alp at one
turn who were traveling together. While the top of the mesa was just
what one would expect, I was still surprised. I'm used to mountains
that go up and then down, but to climb up a road like the Dugway and
then come out onto a large flat plain � it just seemed weird. There
was all sorts of vegetation along the way that precluded viewing
anything of any distance, but it was interesting to look at
nonetheless and a pleasure to see the variety of shades of green and
textures after the relative lack of growth below the mesa.

Route 95 follows the White Canyon, so named for the bands of white
rocks that abounded on both sides of the road, and provides
continuous long, fast sweepers. Once again my preconception of Utah
being full of nothing but flat and straight roads was shattered. It
was a pleasure to drop down through some rough red rocks into a
canyon that opened up to the wide plains above the very beginnings
of Lake Powell and Glen Canyon Recreation Area. I was amazed at the
level of the lake! In fact, if someone hadn't told me otherwise, I
would have assumed that this was just a river meandering through the
ravines of Utah. Doug and I stopped at the Marina at Hite for an ice
cream sandwich and to ask about the lake level. The gentleman
working the store said that poor (read: no) snow pack for the last
six years was causing the water levels to drop precipitously. Later,
Doug pointed to a rock that he swam out to the last time he was here
� and it was 30' above the current water level. We left Hite,
crossed the bridge to the other side of the canyon and quickly
climbed to the top of a high mesa. From there we were able to look
down on the marina and the "lake." In the distance I could see the
concrete pad that had been placed for easy boat launching and how it
was at least 50' above the waterline, leaving boats stranded
literally high and dry. A vivid green belt of growth had taken over
where the lake edge used to be and lent a surreal beauty to this
otherwise desolate-looking scene.

We turned our GSs to the west and headed for our next adventure:
Capitol Reef National Park. The ride there was pleasant, following
the Fremont River and passing through infrequent, small towns. The
temperatures were pleasant, although stopping for any length of time
became unbearable in our 'Stitches, so we just kept on riding. The
day was full of mid- to high-speed sweepers, excellent pavement and
very little traffic. It was a pleasure to keep my new tires round as
the GS met each successive curve with equal aplomb. Just before the
town of Fruita, Doug decided to get a closer look at the river that a
side road apparently led to. We rode carefully down this rutted dirt
road and were rewarded with a lush and quiet valley of greenness
where the river had bent into a gentle curve, leaving a fertile
crescent to the side. The water was warm but not very well suited
for swimming. We poked around the underbrush and found some rusty
hinges from an old shack of some sort, remnants of an era gone by.
Then the fun started! The road we had come across had passed through
a sandy patch of a dried up riverbed. It had startled both of us,
but we had made it through. Now we had to re-cross it to get back to
the main road. Doug went first, and by the time I put my gloves on
and came around the corner I found him standing next to his bike,
with the bike resting peacefully on its side. I made it next to him
and we lifted the bike up into its proper position after snapping a
photo of the downed bike for fun. No harm to either bike or rider,
as the sand � while causing the fall, also cushioned it. Doug got
back on the bike and plowed his way through the rest of the sand and
onto the hard packed dirt beyond. I chose my line carefully and
gently rolled on the throttle, easing the heavy bike through the
soft sand and hoping that the front end wouldn't wash out. It
didn't, and I was now on solid ground with Doug. We got back to the
main road and continued on our way.

While I realize that I was wrong about my preconception that Utah
would be flat and desert-like, Dixie National Forest completely
floored me. Nothing but thick green pine trees and white aspen for
miles. The road curved aggressively between stands of trees, giving
me more of a workout in the corners than I had had in days. The fear
of deer was always upon me, knowing that it was a similar type of
forest that produced the deer that took out the German rider in
Colorado, but I gamely stuck it out and tried to keep up with Doug.
By the time we exited Dixie NF it was getting late again. We chose
to stay in Boulder, UT ("Gateway to the Grand Staircase") and found
a nice little place to stay and a tasty restaurant for vittles. Over
dinner we looked at our maps and saw a gray squiggle!!! The road was
called Hell's Backbone and would completely cut out the Grand
Staircase Escalante, but our sense of adventure was high after our
earlier off-road escapade. But then we thought about the fact that
it was 44 miles of unknown road conditions and that it would be hot
and uncomfortable if we had to pick up our bikes every few miles. We
decided to forego Hell's Backbone and instead stick to the pavement.
We retired for the evening with the stars shining brightly in the
sky.

Day 11 � 277 miles
We loaded up the bikes and set off toward Grand Staircase
Escalante. Both of our heads swiveled to look at the turn off to
Hell's Backbone, but we kept on going. A few miles later Doug pulled
over. "Do you want to try it?" "Yes!!!" We turned the bikes around
and soon were riding on a well-maintained gravel road. And to add to
the sense of adventure, the map indicated that this road would skirt
completely around Box Death Hollow. What great names! The road
wasn't nearly as bad as we feared, although the gravel was a little
looser than I would have like. We started out in green lowlands and
rode past a couple of ranches before we gained elevation and views.
Hell's Backbone follows a ridgeline, but it's not terribly obvious
until you get to the one-lane bridge that crosses over a deep ravine
at the top. The views were astounding, as was the absolute lack of
any sign of humanity. None. We'd seen one dirt biker heading down just
as we started coming up, but we hadn't seen a soul since then, and
there was no evidence of civilization other than the road we were
on. We spent quite some time at the bridge taking pictures and just
plain "taking it in" before getting back on the bikes and finishing
our loop around Box Death Hollow. There were a few side roads off of
the main road, most of them evidently trailhead access roads. We had
to laugh at one that was signed "Upper Death Access" � who could
make it any easier? Eventually the road started to lose elevation
and we found ourselves coming down long, fairly straight descents
and the next thing I knew we were in Escalante. What a great
adventure! It was neat to see something that we knew very few others
had seen. We rewarded ourselves with some tasty sandwiches from the
local eatery before continuing on to Bryce Canyon. As Doug and I sat
in Ruby's parking lot just outside of Bryce at 4 p.m., we discussed what
we wanted to see and what our options were. The north rim of the
Grand Canyon was tantalizingly close, but we wouldn't be able to do
that and Bryce Canyon. I chose the Grand Canyon. We hopped back on
the bikes and headed to Arizona.

The first few miles in Arizona were flat and fairly uninspiring. I
could see the Vermillion Cliffs in the distance, but they were hazy
and I was not impressed. But soon the road rose into the Kaibob
National Forest and gave me plenty of twists and turns. I was
leading this time and it was Doug's turn to keep up with me. At
Jacob Lake, we turned south onto Route 67 and were rewarded with some
amazing greenery that I didn't think could exist in Arizona. A vast
meadow surrounded by trees and carpeted with purple flowers became
the focus of my fascination. We followed a most excellent road
through the park, dispatching the occasional tourist with ease while
still taking in the grandeur around us. The forest was dry pine with
wide-open spaces beneath the high branches, giving it a magical
park-like appearance. As I led us from corner to corner, mile after
mile, I was taken by surprise when I looked off to the left and saw
� nothing! There was the Grand Canyon! We had reached the North Rim
Visitor's Center and the terminus of the road. We performed some
creative parking in the full lot and squeezed our bikes into a
corner. Taking our cameras we first stopped at the Visitor's Center
to see if they had any room in the Lodge. Not surprising, they
didn't. The campground was also full. This meant at least a 17-mile
ride back to the Kaibob Lodge and taking the chance that they had
room. But in the meantime we were at the Grand Canyon with less than
an hour's worth of daylight. The canyons were filling with shadows
but the setting sun illuminated higher points, giving dramatic
contrast of color and texture. We stood and stared for a long time.
The cafeteria at the Lodge was open and it was late, so we grabbed a
bite to eat before searching out accommodations for the evening.
Leaving behind the beautiful Lodge, the cozy looking cabins and the
spectacular scenery was difficult, but I didn't want to sleep under
my bike that night. The road out of the park was just as much fun
going out as it was coming in, except now there were deer. Lots of
deer. We arrived at Kaibob Lodge in the dark and were disappointed
to learn that they were full and would allow no camping on their
grounds. However, the clerk informed us that we were in the middle
of a National Forest, where anyone can camp for free, anywhere
beyond 100' of the nearest road. She pointed out a road 2 miles back
that many people camped off of and we were soon back on the bikes.
The road was a well-maintained dirt road and we quickly secured a
well-used empty campsite to put up our tents. Even at 8,000' it
wasn't cold and the stars were brighter and closer than I'd ever
seen them before. It was a good spot.

Day 12 � 339 miles
I woke to the sound of gentle raindrops on the tent, smiled to
myself and snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag. The birds were out
in full force and provided a beautiful melody that all alarm clocks
should endeavor to imitate. The rain was sporadic and sparse and
didn't hinder our packing of the tents and gear and before long we
were back at the Kaibob for a rather uninspired breakfast. The woman
in charge of the continental type meal kept referring to the food
items by ending them with an "O", as in "there are plenty of
cere-o's, (cereal) and bayg-o's" (bagels)� Doug and I chuckled for a
long time at that.

Coming back into Utah from Arizona, I wanted to stop for some
pictures of the red and pink rocks along the side of the road. I
pulled off onto a side road and then saw that the side road had a
side road � how perfect! I zipped down the red dirt road, somehow
managed to power my way through the sand that surprised me at the
bottom of a dip and parked the bike at the top of the next rise.
Doug gamely followed me but gave me a serious questioning look as he
parked the bike. We took some pictures, mused over an ancient
outhouse and then prepared to leave. I pointed my bike back down
into the sandy wash and after riding about 10 yards promptly fell
over in the sand at the bottom. Doug called out, asking if I was ok.
When I replied that yes, I was fine he said "Good, I'm going to take
a picture!" After the photo shoot, he helped me get the GS upright
again and we were back on the pavement in a matter of minutes.

It didn't take long to get to Zion National Park from there. In
fact, another one of the things that surprised me about Utah is how
close everything is. No sooner did I leave one
Monument or National Park than I was approaching the next one.
Either that or my perception of time is skewed because I'm simply
enjoying all the time I'm spending on the back of the bike. Zion is
amazing. This is a place where I would have to park the bike and
spend 2 or 3 days hiking around in order to fully appreciate the
vast beauty that is there.

As we exited out the west gate of the park it started to rain
again. Apparently quite a storm system was sweeping through the West
and we kept running into bits and pieces of it. We stopped for
refreshments in Virgin, UT and here I pulled out my secret Heat
Beating weapon. It's a TechNiche evaporative cooling vest made
specifically to hold water. I soaked it thoroughly and put it on
under my 'Stitch. As the air flowed through the vents in my gear it
pulled the water out of the vest, creating a sort of swamp cooler
air conditioner. As long as I maintained speeds above 40 mph I had
enough air flowing over me to keep me cool.

Riding through St George, UT, I could see the smoke from the forest
fires that I had heard about on the news another night. They were
close enough to close the Interstate itself a couple of days ago. I
saw at least five individual fires along the route to Las Vegas, and
none of them looked like fun to fight in the heat of the desert. How
do they do it? The Interstate was dull, with no variety and not much
to look at. It dropped down into Arizona before crossing the Nevada
state line, with very little changing to let me know that we were
anywhere different. Las Vegas was visible from miles away and in the
late afternoon heat it did not appeal to me at all, although I did
enjoy looking at the fantastic structures and marveling that this
place existed at all. As we finally crawled our way out of the other
side of the city, the sheer number of cookie-cutter subdivisions
that were being built struck me. Who would want to live here and
why? It was 104 degrees in Vegas and it wasn't even the first week
of July. The only greenness that I saw was the artificially induced
growth of palm trees in yards and boulevards. Ah, to each his own.

I had discovered the "flying squirrel" riding position. In order to
fully take advantage of the vents and cooling vest I had to raise my
elbows up and lean slightly forward. I also lifted my fingers from
the grips over the hand guards to allow the air to pass through the
perforated leather between the fingers. This allowed a maximum
amount of air to flow through the 'Stitch and my gloves and cool me
off, but I also imagined that I looked fairly silly, like a flying
squirrel preparing to land on a nearby tree. Oh well � I wasn't out
there for a fashion show.

Eventually Doug and I arrived in Pahrump, NV (apparently not home of
anything in particular) and eventually found a much-needed
air-conditioned hotel. After refreshing showers we walked to a
nearby steakhouse, had a hearty and tasty meal and then wandered
along the main strip of Pahrump. Not terribly interesting at all,
but there was a Walgreen's where I was able to buy some sundries
that I needed. We made plans to leave early the next morning to
avoid most of the heat, for our goal was to cross into California
and through Death Valley.

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